


Tauriel Dies AU

by tolkienguardians



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolkienguardians/pseuds/tolkienguardians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift to Gingehfish/starlightwalking for her birthday a while ago, with some very slight changes. Based off a prompt she sent in about a Tauriel Dies AU forever ago. Collab (sorta) with moonrunes/scene-88</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tauriel Dies AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/gifts).



“KILI!!”

His name echoed up the side of the mountain, making his heart stop. He did his best to turn in the direction of her voice while holding off the enormous orc he was battling.

“TAURIEL!!”

He had to get to her. Turning back to his enemy, he finished it off with renewed vigor and charged towards the next one, hearing a cry and a roar from down below. He ducked below an orc sword, rolling and slashing wildly. He turned to look for her again, but she was gone. Where was she? She’d been down there, so she must’ve gone up the stairs. There was a slight split, so she must’ve been on the half level, below him. He ran towards the split, catching a glimpse of red hair and feeling alarmed. Why was she up so high?

A sickening sound of impact, of flesh against stone, brought nausea and panic to his stomach. Kili arrived just in time to see Bolg approach Tauriel, club out as she shuddered in pain against the cliff.

Without stopping, he lifted his sword and jumped at the great orc’s head. Bolg started in surprise as Kili locked his arms around the orc’s neck, hanging on for dear life as he tried to drive his sword through the orc’s skull. 

Kili was thrown violently over Bolg’s head, landing on the cracked remains of ancient stairs. He rose, fighting the pain in his back, charging again towards the orc. Ducking the club, striking at his legs, never hitting anything. Anguish clouded his vision momentarily- his brother was dead, Fili was dead- he couldn’t deal with that now-

Bolg’s fist collided with his face in a shower of stars and pain. He fell back, collapsing against the snowy ground. Through the tears of agony he saw Bolg raise his hammer for the final strike…

Tauriel leapt from her position, tackling Bolg and hampering his right arm. Bolg roared, trying to shake her. Kili struggled up as Bolg threw Tauriel to the ground, trying to swing his sword in the orc’s direction dizzily. Bolg easily avoided the strike, grabbing a handful of Kili’s armor and throwing him across the level.

Kili barely stopped himself from rolling off the cliff side. He was nearly sure something was broken, but he tried to pull himself back anyway. Bolg grabbed Tauriel’s neck again, holding her in place even as she struggled weakly. Her breathing was raspy and labored, he could hear it from where he was. Bolg raised his hammer, almost ceremoniously, grinning demonically at Kili. Kili’s body screamed at him as he tried desperately, futilely to drag himself towards her, to somehow stop this from happening. She locked gazes with him, she was trying to say something. What was she saying?

Time seemed to slow as the grotesque orc drove the end of his hammer down, through Tauriel’s midriff. Kili screamed, he knew he did, but he couldn’t hear himself. His vision had gone blurry. Bolg pulled his blade out of her body, and she fell to the ground- hit the ground, limp, unmoving. Blood stained the ice and bounced on the snow as that piece of filth shook his dripping weapon. Bolg approached him, still grinning, feasting on his evident pain, elven blood still on his blade. Kili was exhausted, he could not bear all the loss, he could not handle one more second- but as the orc approached, he found the fury and desperation within him to force himself upwards, tackling the monster and sending them both over the cliff edge.

Kili hit a lip in the cliff face that drove the wind out of him. Stars danced before his eyes again. Stars, stars, starlight… Bolg had kept falling. There was a way up the cliffside, he could see it, he had to- Tauriel could still be alive, he could help if he could just… get back up, Bolg- Bolg had to be dead, even he could not survive… maybe. Maybe she wouldn’t- wouldn’t… wouldn’t be…

It took a long time to get himself up. His stomach lurched when he realized that the great orc hadn’t died on impact with the ground. Invincible. But surely the blond elf would… defeat him. Perhaps the blond elf would even live. 

Kili tried to ignore the battle below him as he dragged himself painfully up the cliffside. It was slow going, made even slower by his injuries, but he resolutely pushed himself upwards until he could see Tauriel again. _ Please be alive. Please, please, if anybody… if anybody cares anymore, if anybody still cares out there, please… let her be alive.  _

He crawled over to her, feeling broken bones scrape inside him. He barely recognized the cooling liquid he was wading through that was pooling around her. She was still and pale, and her neck looked swollen. Kili pulled off his gloves shakily and searched for a pulse in her neck. No, her neck was swollen, perhaps it would be harder to find… he pressed an ear to her chest. The blood roaring in his ears made it hard to hear, maybe he was just going deaf. He reached for her hand and checked her wrist. 

There was nothing. 

The tears welled up and escaped from his eyes without permission. Her hand was cold, so unlike the precious, feverish memory he had of when she’d carefully brushed her fingers against his. Her hand was so small. He pressed her hand to his cheek, unable to fully process what was going on. She couldn’t be dead. She… couldn’t….

She shouldn’t have died.

_ It should have been me.  _

The guttural, choked noises that escaped from him didn’t travel far, but it was the only sound he could hear for a long time. He remained there, holding her hand to his face, knowing there were more dying below him but finding himself unable to care. He repeatedly brushed her hair away from her blood- two shades of red that should never mix. Fili… Tauriel… why had they gone? They deserved to live, he… they’d died for him, he didn’t deserve any of it. 

The elvenking found him that way, hunched over her body. 

“She would have lived if not for me,” he whispered hoarsely, not looking at the tall silhouette. 

The elvenking thought about it, but Kili knew the answer. 

“Yes.”

Kili let out a sob. “It should have been me. It… it had to- it had to have been me. It’s my fault, she’s gone, she… she would have lived forever.”

Kili didn’t expect him to answer. Elves didn’t display emotion much. Tauriel… she’d been a sort of exception, and even she had only smiled a few times. 

“She loved you.”

He flinched at the unexpected words, still not looking at Thranduil. How would he know?

“I… I told her that her love for you was not real.” The king’s words were awkward and quiet. He was probably unused to having to explain such things to non-elven beings. “I challenged her, asked her if she would… if she would die for it. For you.”

_ It’s his fault _ . Rage bubbled up in his chest, but he clamped his mouth shut and held Tauriel’s hand tighter. 

“I was wrong. I can see that now.”

“You killed her.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he could not stop. “It was… it was your fault too! You- you hid while others suffered- she- she wanted to help, she only wanted to help! You only came for  _ jewels _ !!”

His voice rose to a shout, and he could feel himself moving closer to Tauriel’s body, as if to protect her from her treacherous king.

It was at that unfortunate moment that the blond elf- Thranduil’s son, Tauriel’s friend- arrived, covered in grime and blood, not his own. He made a strangled sound and strode forward. 

“And where were you?” Kili shouted, voice breaking, stopping Legolas in his tracks. “Where were you, when she was dying? You abandoned her!”

“I did no such thing!”

“You- you LEFT HER!!" he screamed, abandoning any previous pretense of civility. The elves just stood there. "YOU COULD HAVE _SAVED_ HER! SHE'S- she's..." His eyes began to lose focus. “I... I couldn't save her." 

Kili’s voice broke again as he curled up around her, sobbing. "No. No… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, she’s gone…”

The rest of the week was a blurry haze to him. Legolas had knelt on the other side of her body despite Kili’s nearly feral warnings in his direction and stayed there, head bowed, silently mourning in drastic contrast to Kili. The other dwarves had found them eventually, long after the elvenking had moved away, and they were forced to drag Kili away from her body, telling him meaningless words- we’ll be back for her, we can bury her, we’ll return, lad, we need to tend to you- while he screamed at them and fought as best he could with his sapped strength. He’d spent several days in a tent while his wounds healed, listlessly listening to dwarves tell him things. Balin told him that Thorin had died killing Azog, which officially made him the heir to the throne of Erebor. He didn’t want it. Without them- without his brother, without his uncle, without his One- there was no point. The orcs had withdrawn, forces severely depleted; the elves were returning to their lands with words of sorrow and peace, the men were rebuilding their cities; the dwarves of the Iron Hills were staying to help with the reconstruction of Erebor. Kili did not respond to any of the news until Balin cautiously broached the subject of Tauriel’s funeral. Legolas and Thranduil had requested they give her a customary elven ceremony back in Mirkwood. Kili violently objected. She’d run away from Mirkwood, she’d tried to go and help other lands, she wouldn’t want to be trapped back there… she should be buried under the stars. The stars couldn’t be seen in Mirkwood, not on the ground. She loved the stars. 

In the end, they’d managed to compromise. Both dwarves and elves attended the ceremony between Erebor and Dale, although Kili was well aware of the fact that most of the dwarves were only there for him. Bard’s family attended as well, but no other men. The stars shone bright that night, and Kili didn’t say a word.

Thorin’s and Fili’s funerals were held a few days later, deep in the mountain. A select few elves and men were invited, but the ceremony was completely dwarven. Thranduil formally gave Orcrist back to Thorin, and Bilbo laid the Arkenstone on his chest. Kili couldn’t think of something good enough to give to his brother- there was no stone or metal precious enough to make up for the loss of Fili - the one who taught him, smiled and cried with him, who’d been there every second of his life. In the end, he settled for placing his short swords across his chest and every one of his knives, given to Fili by his parents, in their rightful places, graciously returned by the Elvenking. Kili almost dissolved into hysterical, manic laughter when he saw the elf messenger come with Fili’s coat and a large bag with small blades sticking out in every direction. Half of the present Line of Durin now rested in the halls of their ancestors. One fourth remained above them, trying to force his mind to focus on matters of state.

The other fourth came several weeks later, marching into his room and forcing her way into his life again, since Dis was the only one who truly knew what he was going through. He told his mother all about his One, how the flames had danced in her hair and the starlight had sparkled in her eyes and how the orc had cruelly extinguished both, and she told him more about his father than he’d ever heard before. They grew closer in their grief- both having lost brothers and father figures and the loves of their lives. Dis helped him with ruling as King Under the Mountain and lightened his burden, but she could only do so much.

Several of his counselors, after a few years, began to cautiously suggest taking a spouse. Perhaps diplomatic, they ventured, or maybe he could find someone on his own. He never could. Every time a dwarrowdam tossed her hair and smiled in his direction he saw red hair flying and freckles sprinkled across a face like stars, and every time a dwarrow sneakily made an innuendo at him his own sly, spur-of-the-moment comment rang in his ears again. The memories of his One never let him be.

It wasn’t just her. Every time he saw siblings holding hands as they ran and adults cautioning  _ don’t go too close to the railing, dear _ he heard his uncle with the smile in his voice and felt the ghost of his brother’s hand in his again. His mother felt them too, but she was used to the spirits. Kili wasn’t sure if he could be that strong.

He wondered if Thorin’s advisors had ever stopped asking about marriages and courting and  _ diplomatic relations.  _ The only way to get away from them did seem to be a risky quest with only several close friends who didn’t care about such things. Slowly, however, the questions faded as talk of war and battle strategies crept in.

He tried to visit their graves as often as he could, but the men from the east blocked his way to Tauriel’s final resting place when they began their siege. He was tired, so tired of living without them, but the dwarves of Erebor needed him. 

He should have given instructions on where to bury him on occasion of his death. Thorin the Third, descendant of Dain, only knew vague stories of Kili’s loss. He did not know why the king traveled out every day to the land between Dale and Erebor. He assumed that he would want to be buried with his kin and the other great leaders of the mountain, but the cavern had collapsed long ago. Kili was buried far away from Thorin, Fili, and Tauriel, within the mountain but not deep enough. 


End file.
